Oh, Lovely: the deleted scenes
by Annamia
Summary: A lovely collection of scenes that could have happened during the Akatsuki's freshman year but didn't. an almost crack fic.
1. I glare

_Author's note: okay, these require some explanation. see, thesepeopleareus and i started writing these more as a game than anything else. in essence, we took my story Oh, Lovely and wrote what is in essence an alternate year. some of the scenes, such as this one, could have happened in my real story, but many of them are too exaggerated or just don't fit right with the plot. so we're calling them deleted scenes. you don't have to have read what i have of my real story to understand these. at least, i don't think you have to. all you really need to know is this: it's a high school fic with all the akatsuki. erin is our OC. (she's actually thesepeopleareus, but it's fun to write her anyway.)  
Disclaimer: consider yourselves disclaimed.  
Warning: there will be some VERY OOC moments, i think, and erin is sort of the beginning of a mary-sue. i'm trying not to, but she's that kind of person. please don't take any of this seriously. it's the closest thing to crack fic i've ever written, and i love it to death.  
now read on...  
--kyra_

* * *

I glare

Sasori looked up as Zetsu sat across from him and smiled slightly. "I saw your friend today." Itachi grimaced inwardly, knowing exactly which 'friend' Sasori was referring to.

Zetsu wasn't as quick on the uptake. "Who?"

"Erin. You know, the girl in chemistry yesterday."

Zetsu nodded, his face showing only the slightest trace of either embarrassment or excitement at the news. Itachi glanced away in disgust. Really, it was pathetic how quickly Zetsu had become attached to the wretched creature.

"She's in our Psyche class."

"'Our' class?" Kisame leaned forward as Pein, the last of the group, joined them. "Who else is there?"

Sasori nodded at Itachi, who did not deign to look in his direction. Kisame turned to look at his friend. "_You're_ taking _**Psychology**_?!"

Itachi nodded slightly, trying to tell his friend to shut the hell up _now_. "Why do you seem so surprised?"

"It's just… _you_? You could write the whole textbook if you wanted to!" Everyone winced except Itachi and Kisame, Kisame because he did not yet understand the full impact of his social faux pas, and Itachi because he didn't _do_ that kind of thing.

Instead, he grimaced, standing. "Thank you so much," he replied. It was hard having to say these things to Kisame. Kisame was supposed to be his _friend_, his ally, his loyal follower. Kisame wasn't supposed to taunt him like this. It wasn't right. "I love having my nose rubbed in my issues first thing each day. I shall come back tomorrow for another dose of your miracle medicine. Until then, goodbye." Glowering, he stalked away from the table, half hoping that Kisame would follow him spouting trembling apologies so that Itachi could kick him down again and thereby improve his own tumbling moral. Kisame was good for that. It was like having an overly affectionate puppy which took as many kicks as you could give it and still came back for more, hoping that this time it would get a 'good dog' instead.

He didn't come. Itachi's scowl deepened into an expression almost visible to those not part of the intimate circle he chose to think of as friends.

The librarian nodded at him as he entered, and he nodded back. It wasn't that she actually _liked_ him much – nobody really _liked_ Itachi, he'd found – but he respected the sanctity of the library and didn't try to play games when he should have been doing homework, so she left him alone. It worked well for both of them.

He headed towards his favorite table, the one right in the back, intending to dive into his physics homework as a stress reliever. Suddenly, he stumbled slightly, his shock momentarily overriding his sense of balance. He righted himself quickly, looking around covertly to make sure no one had seen. Once assured that his reputation remained intact, he turned his attention towards the event which had caused the stumble in the first place: his table was occupied by someone else. This had never happened to him before. School had only been in session for a few days, and already everyone had learned to respect his space and not get in his way. So who was this person who _dared_ ignore that unwritten rule and sit herself at _his_ table. Wait. _Her_. Oh crap.

He stared in horror as Erin lifted her head from the infernal notebook and eyed him oddly. "Are you waiting for a personal invitation to sit down?" she demanded, her whisper carrying easily across the few feet separating them.

"That's my table." Surely she would realize her mistake and leave, looking fearfully up at him as she scurried away, praying to whichever deity she chose to believe in that he would be merciful. It was the usual reaction. It wasn't hers.

"It doesn't have your _name_ on it."

When had he gone back to elementary school? Who other than a six year old spouted out such things?

"That's _my_ table." Perhaps she hadn't quite understood the implications of the statement.

She sighed and met his eyes face on. "No, it's not. It's public property belonging to the school district placed here for all students to use as they wish and according to their individual need."

He'd try one more time. "No, you don't understand. You're at my _table_."

She eyed him oddly. "You do realize that you're beginning to repeat yourself, don't you?"

"You haven't moved."

"And I won't either."

Itachi frowned slightly, though he doubted she managed to detect any change from his usual apathy.

She didn't move. "I believe we've come to an impasse. May I suggest that we compromise like the young adults they believe us to be?"

He didn't respond, still trying to match this sudden maturity with her earlier childishness.

"I propose this: I carry a roll of duct tape with me. We can divide this table in half and write your name on your half. That way, you are alone at your part of the table, and I am free to continue my writing in peace. Is that an acceptable solution?"

Itachi latched onto the most immediately comprehensible part of the speech. "_Why_ do you carry duct tape around with you?"

She shrugged. "You never know when it might come in handy. So, is it acceptable, or do you have something better?"

He suddenly realized that he in danger of losing some of his hard gained reputation. He couldn't afford to compromise. "You could move."

She sighed theatrically. "You just don't understand the meaning of 'compromise,' do you?"

"The word has been known to cross my lips," he said stiffly, "but I consider it one of those words which apply to others."

She shook her head. "Then you will fail at life."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Everyone has to compromise."

He stared at her, wondering what she was trying to say. Surely she wasn't suggesting that _he_ compromise… was she?

She was. Her impish expression didn't change as she waited for his answer, but he could just _sense_ the glee she felt at the prospect of forcing him to cooperate with her.

Something in him, habitually stretched to breaking point anyway, snapped. "No."

She looked up, astonishment lining her face as though she'd never even considered that reply.

"No?"

He shook his head briskly. "No. You are at _my_ table, and so you will find that _I_ am in charge of the situation." _This_ was more like it! _Now_ he knew where he stood.

Unfortunately, she hadn't figured this out yet. "I thought we'd been through this already? Must I say it all again?"

He didn't answer, adjusting his glare to 'High'.

She sighed. "If you insist…" She took a deep breath. "This table is public property belonging to the school…"

"I know what you said," he snapped, then stopped in something akin to horror. Had he just _snapped_ at her? _Him_, Itachi Uchiha, _snapping_ at someone?! Was the world coming to an end or something? Or was she just some foreign witch person in disguise, sent to torment him into submission? Well, it wouldn't happen. He refused to be tortured into submission. He was _Itachi_, and _no _one got the better of Itachi.

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, Erin bent back down to the notebook and began scribbling again. Itachi stared at her, this time careful to keep his shock hidden. She was… _ignoring_ him! To his knowledge, that had _never_ happened to him before!

Making a decision, he set his books down on the table with a decisive 'thump' and sat down opposite from her. She didn't look up, but her free hand made its way down into her backpack and came back with a thick roll of silver duct tape, which it handed to him.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Divide the table in half," she replied, not once lifting her eyes from the once blank page of the notebook.

He started to scowl, then caught himself and didn't. Instead, he put the duct tape in his own backpack and opened his AP Algebra book, laying it conspicuously on the table so that she would know just what kind of person she was dealing with. The spiral notebook came out next, perfectly organized and filled with notes in his flawless handwriting. He'd won the best handwriting competition in his class every year since kindergarten, and he wanted her to know it. He began doing his problems as showily as possible, willing her to look up and see the level he was at.

She didn't.

He continued, wondering how long he would be able to keep doing this. Finally, when she didn't appear to be about to notice, he asked, in that whisper which is designed to make the other person think that they aren't supposed to overhear, "This Ap Algebra is far too simple."

That elicited a reaction, thankfully. She glanced up, took in his material, and shrugged. "I agree. I'm in Honors Geometry this year. I could have taken Algebra, but I decided I wanted to be challenged at least _once_ during the day." She looked back down as she finished, apparently not concerned about whether or not she got a response.

"Indeed. I fully understand your sentiment."

Once again, she raised her eyes, but this time they were filled with incredulity.

"Did you really just use the word 'sentiment'?!"

"What of it? It is a perfectly acceptable word, and one which can be found in any dictionary you care to pick up."

She shook her head. "That doesn't mean that people actually _use_ it, you know."

"Oh? And why not, pray tell?"

She seemed torn between staring at him in appalled disbelief or bursting out into gales of furious laughter. Neither were the desired result. "Okay, I see what the problem is here. You are in dire need of a wonderful new form of medicine. You may have heard of it: it's called a Life."

"I know not this 'Life' of which you speak."

"I guessed as much, thanks. What do you do for fun, anyway? Or do you know not that concept either?"

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. You know, that which is not work?"

He considered this for a moment. That which was not work… what was the point of _that_?! If you weren't going to work, then why were you bothering?

"I do not do 'fun.'"

She shook her head in disgust. "That's really sad. You know that, right?"

He didn't deign to dignify this folly with a response.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this the hard way. What do you do when you get home from school?"

"Homework."

"And when you're done with your homework?"

"Extra credit work."

"Why? If anyone doesn't need extra credit, it's you."

"It is assigned. I do all assigned work."

"No, it's suggested. There's a difference. Anyway, moving on. When you're done with your extra credit work, what do you do?"

"I study."

"And when there's nothing to study for?"

"There is _always_ something to study for."

She sighed. "I suppose you could see it that way. But when you have completed all conceivable schoolwork, what do you do?"

This took some thought. He _did_ torment Sasuke, but that hardly counted. Besides, he got the feeling she wouldn't want to hear something like that. Not that he _cared_ what she thought, of course! He didn't. But he didn't mention Sasuke.

She was still waiting for him to speak, and he knew that, if he didn't, he would lose. And he refused to lose. "I glare."

This time she did burst out laughing, but it was the hushed, half strangled laugh of someone who is in a library and knows they shouldn't be erupting into gales of hilarity.

"You… you _glare_?" she managed through spasms of laughter.

"I practice in the mirror," he retorted, telling himself that he didn't feel hurt at _all_.

She sensed this, and calmed herself with some difficulty. "To each their own, I suppose. At least it's not schoolwork."

He nodded stiffly, wondering if she would deign to leave him alone yet.

She didn't.

"Anything _else_? Do you read books that aren't assigned, or play sports, or watch TV? Anything?"

Finally, a question he could answer! "I watch TV," he affirmed.

"Really?"

"Indeed."

"What do you watch?"

"The discovery channel," he answered triumphantly.

She wasn't as good at stifling her laughter that time, and the head librarian came over to reprimand them.

"Sorry," Erin said, faking shame quite convincingly. "Itachi was telling me all about how he went demon hunting during his summer vacation and tried to capture his brother's best friend to exorcise the demon from him."

The head librarian looked at her disapprovingly, then turned to Itachi. "I trust you will not let this happen again."

She swooped away before Itachi could protest against the general unfairness of the entire situation. He turned to Erin instead. She'd stopped laughing now, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't take much to set her off once more. He decided not to say anything.

She finally got a hold of herself and seemed about to calm down completely. He risked a question. "How did you know I have a brother?"

She shrugged. "I didn't, actually. It was a lucky guess."

"Oh."

There was once more silence in the library… at least, there was silence in their particular corner of the library, broken only by the renewed scratching sounds made by Erin's mechanical pencil.

Finally, just as Itachi was once more settling into his Algebra, she remarked, "Does the name 'Paris Hilton' mean anything to you?"

He looked up in irritation, for once not afraid to let it show. She, damn her, was still buried in her notebook and didn't even notice. "Should it?"

She shrugged again. "Yes. But I didn't really think you'd know. And since I don't feel like giving you her biography, you can either live without knowing or go look it up yourself. I believe she has quite a lengthy Wikipedia page."

Itachi's pencil shuddered to a halt as he considered the horror that was Wikipedia. "If you think for even one _moment_ that I would even _consider_ consulting _Wikipedia_, then…"

"Jeez, calm down! I momentarily forgot that you weren't like the rest of us mortals. I won't make that mistake again, nor will I mention the word 'Wikipedia.' Satisfied?"

He was, but he had a sinking suspicion that she wasn't being entirely serious, though nothing in either her tone or her demeanor was anything other than truly serious and contrite. "I am."

"Good." She turned back to her notebook again, and he looked down at his Algebra problems, realizing too late that he was finished. Apparently his pencil had kept moving across the page while he and Erin were engaging in philosophical discussions. Now what did he do? He pulled out his assignment notebook, searching for stray pieces of extra credit he hadn't done yet. There didn't appear to be any.

"No homework?"

He scowled again, and again she didn't look up to acknowledge it. "Not for the time being, no."

She didn't flash him a triumphant grin, but he could see it on her face anyway, and he knew as well as she did that she wished she had. In many ways, it was more effective than if she'd actually just gone ahead and grinned.

He closed his Algebra book, picturing, for a single, blissful moment, the idea of slamming it down on her unsuspecting skull. Then reason reasserted itself and he realized that it was unfeasible: if anything, he shouldn't draw any more attention to himself in this library today. Later then.

He contemplated standing and leaving, but that seemed too much like surrender. Instead, he fished out the book they were reading for English class – the one he'd already read all the way through twice and written two essays on, though neither one was due for weeks yet – and flipped to a random spot in the middle, amusing himself for .32 seconds trying to figure out where he was.

"Okay, so how many times have you read that?" Her voice shook him out of his concentration yet _again_, and he looked up, ready to murder her right then and there with the unsuspecting paperback. A hardback would have been better, but he had to work with what he had.

"Twice," he ground out.

She sighed. "That's just depressing. You do realize that _no one_ reads school books more than they have to, don't you?"

"Do _you_ realize that I could care less about what _no one_ does?" he spat back, too furious to even _attempt_ to control his emotions.

She shrugged. "I suppose. But still, you could at least _pretend_."

This was too ludicrous for even a scowl. Instead, he gave it the response it deserved: a proper sneer. She acknowledged it with the faintest sketch of a shrug.

"I'm being serious. You can't go through life like this. You'll give yourself a heart attack before you turn 40. Didn't you learn about Type A people in Psychology yet?"

They hadn't covered that lesson yet, but that didn't matter. He'd already read the textbook. Unfortunately, judging from her apathetically smug expression, she had too. "Of course. I fail to see what that has to do with me."

Her eyes widened. "You didn't notice? You're the ideal example of a Type A person." She began ticking off signs on her fingers. "Workaholic, competitive, strongly achievement-orientated, impatient with others, not a people person, wants to be in charge… What _don't_ you have?"

He didn't answer.

She sighed. "Look, let me tell you something: to get through in the world, you need to at least _pretend_ to care. Is that too much to ask?"

He grimaced. "I fail to see how my doing things which do not come naturally to me will aid me in this world. Furthermore, I also fail to see how continuing this pointless and irritating conversation will aid either of us in the long run. So, as I see it, this conversation is finished, and you will oblige me by remaining silent."

She scowled. "I will do no such thing," she snapped. "_You_ can 'remain silent' if you want, but you can't keep me from talking!"

He didn't answer, hoping she'd get the message. She didn't.

"And, since you won't answer me, I'll give you some free advice. You need a life. It doesn't matter what _kind_ of life you get, just that you get one. You can't go through life like this. You'll never make it. You'll be one of those people whose entire lives are invested in their career and who don't have time for a family or friends, and who drink themselves to death if they ever get too old to work, and who take stimulants when they get old to keep working as much as they did when they were just out of college. Does that sound like an appealing life choice?"

He still didn't answer.

"So, as I say, you need a life. It doesn't have to be a social butterfly life, if you don't want to work that hard. You could pick the kind I did." She gestured to the notebook. "Though, quite frankly, I can't see you going to starving and slave-driven writer way. I could be wrong, of course. You might have a hidden genius for writing Shakespeare-style plays that no one knows about. But I must say, I really do doubt that."

His mouth remained an obstinately closed line, but his hands were itching to take up the Algebra book once more. It was heavy. He should be able to knock her out without making too much noise.

"'Cause the way you are now, you're just a robot in human form. An android." She paused, considering this idea. "You know, I like that. Android. Andi! So, Andi, what do you think of my proposition? Will you be willing to step out of your comfort bubble and acquire a life?"

He'd finally heard enough. He stood, shoving the chair back so violently that he was amazed it didn't fall backwards. He gathered his books and shoved them neatly into his backpack, his face fighting between its habitual expressionless mask and the raging fury he felt growing steadily inside me.

"Leaving already Andi? But you haven't answered my question yet, Andi!"

He whirled to face her, backpack raised and ready. "My. Name. Is. _Not_. _**Andi**_!" he hissed. "You will not call me that, understood."

"Sure Andi."

Did she _want_ to die? She didn't _seem_ the suicidal type, but who knew? She could be and he'd never realize. The backpack began inching down, gaining speed as it went.

And then the head librarian appeared once more, her vulture-like face glowering at him. "Out!" she screeched. Itachi had never realized that it was possible to screech in a whisper, but it was. The head vulture was apparently an adept. "I have had enough! It's clear you two aren't doing any work here, and you're only distracting other students. Leave, now!"

Itachi stared at her, his face frozen into a mask of shock. He was getting _kicked_ _out_. _He_ was getting kicked out. _He_ was getting _kicked out_! The emotional dial in his brain went from 'murderous' to 'mortified,' and he turned all his rage on Erin. This was_ her_ fault! If _she_ hadn't been there, none of this would have happened, and his reputation would still be intact.

The last shreds of self preservation leapt into the forefront of his mind, showing him the consequences of killing her in the presence of the head vulture. No, he had to wait. He hated it, but it was necessary. He lowered the backpack down towards the table and then slung it over his shoulders, heading towards the door. Erin followed, looking only slightly horrified than he felt. Maybe there _was_ something she didn't like. He would remember that.

They parted at the door to the library, both glaring at each other. His glare was better. She was just an amateur. _He_ practiced in the mirror.

She held a hand out. "I want my duct tape back." Her voice was cold, very different from the cheery tones she'd graced him with earlier.

He'd almost forgotten that. He fished it out and gave it to her, then regretted it and wished he'd help it hostage. Too late now. He'd know better next time.

"Oh, and next time you seek me out? Don't do it in the library. I don't like making them mad, and I want to go back. Got it?"

Before he could protest that he'd never sought her out, and he didn't want to, and, anyway, he didn't want to make them mad either, she was gone, vanishing around a corner before he could formulate even the first word of his sentence.

* * *

"Where did you go?" Kisame demanded, catching up with him on his way back to the cafeteria.

"Library."

"Oh?"

"And I got _nothing_ done!"

"Why not?"

"I was… distracted." It was hard to admit to that, but it was true. The Algebra didn't count. He didn't need to concentrate for that. But, if _she_ hadn't been there, he could have put in a good half hour of studying. Now, he was behind, and he would have to do double tomorrow. And tonight. He growled at the thought.

"By what?" Kisame was clearly curious. Itachi didn't blame him… really. He couldn't help his curiosity; it was one of those annoying habits that Itachi hadn't managed to train him out of yet.

"Girl."

Wrong thing to say. Kisame glanced at Sasori, – whose presence Itachi hadn't noted before – both of their expressions filled with silent horror.

"Irritation." They should have known better than to think like _that_. They were worse than Hidan!

Kisame let out his breath. "Oh. That's a relief."

Itachi glared. It was _not_ a relief. It was an annoyance and annoyances were not to be tolerated.

"Who was it?" Kisame asked, his stance and tone indicating that whoever it was had very little time left to live. He was already fingering his inside pocket, which contained the wickedly sharp pocket knife which he kept on him at all times. Itachi felt some of his irritation towards the tall boy dissolve. Yes, Kisame would be on his side. He could count on Kisame.

"The girl in psychology." Sasori's eyes widened and, damn him, started to fill with cautious amusement.

"Erin? What did she _do_?"

Itachi didn't reply. Kisame glanced at Sasori. "Who?"

Sasori shrugged. "She's in our psychology class. She also has Chem with me and Zetsu."

"Oh, the one he's talking to?"

Sasori nodded. Itachi glanced at him. "Zetsu likes her?" The entire concept of anyone _liking_ Erin was foreign and probably toxic. Zetsu clearly needed medical attention. Maybe _he_ should have been in Psychology, not Sasori.

Sasori nodded again. "I think he likes her. Or the voice does. I'm not sure which. They argued about it all period yesterday."

Kisame snorted. "This'll be fun. Has he ever actually _talked_ to a girl?"

"He has now. They had almost a whole conversation yesterday. Besides, there's Konan."

"How much do Zetsu and Konan talk?"

Sasori considered it. "I don't believe they do," he said finally.

"See?"

Itachi growled. They were completely missing the point. Erin could not be allowed to continue. Something had to be done.

Kisame turned back to him. "What do you expect me to say? You met a girl, you argued with her, and you lost. Nothing'll change that, and the only way you'll get over it is to go terrorize your brother and his friends."

"A temporary solution. No, this girl must be neutralized, and at once."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "'Neutralized?' A little harsh, don't you think? What are you going to do, beat her to death with a textbook?" He glanced at Itachi's textbooks. "Come to think of it, that might actually work. Though Zetsu wouldn't be pleased."

Kisame glowered at Sasori, while Itachi wondered for a split second whether Sasori had suddenly became a mind reader. Before he could decide, Sasori shrugged. "He shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I'm off. See you guys tomorrow." He left the cafeteria, heading for his locker.

Itachi and Kisame were left alone. They said nothing for a few moments. Finally, Kisame asked, "Erin, is she sort of medium height with blond hair? Wears weird jewelry and carries a notebook around with her all the time?"

Itachi nodded stiffly.

Kisame's grin turned feral. "You know, I do believe I have life sports with her…"

* * *

_Author's note 2: i don't usually do these, but i just remembered something: these are not really in chronological order. they start out that way since lots are already written, but after i post everything i have, i'll post them as we write them. i will include a timeline, don't worry. but i just thought i'd warn you._  
_Coming soon to a story near you:_ I scoff_._


	2. I scoff

_Author's note: this chapter was written by thesepeopleareus on request from us. we wanted to see what she would do with it. basically, it's the last chapter from erin's POV. we love it. hope you do too!  
Disclaimer: we own naruto. seriously, we do. we promise! you don't believe us? why not? (_**Because it's not true!**_) oh yeah. -sigh- we don't own naruto. sorry.  
--kyra_

* * *

I scoff

Erin dropped her backpack on the circular table in the back of the library with finality, failing to ignore the very heavy thump it made.

She had misgivings toward the teachers who felt it absolutely necessary to cripple the new generation with frivolously large books. Mr. Broatigan, however, had seen the light. Mr. Broatigan had realized that any work for which students needed a history textbook could just as easily be completed well within class time. Mr. Broatigan was very likeable. He was laid back and had a discernable sense of humor with a pinch of cynicism. She liked cynicism.

She liked Zetsu, that one guy who sat in the next row over and two seats up. Surprisingly, it was enjoyable talking to him. Most people didn't talk to her more than once. Just an introduction and they'd had an overdose of Erin, content to suffer a hello and a head-hug in the halls. Hells, a lot of people didn't even talk to her _once_. She was different. She was happy all the time (or at least appeared to be so), and smart, and enjoyed reading, and even worse, she enjoyed writing. How strange. Reading and writing were chores to others.

Erin figured while she was fishing a pencil out of her backpack that maybe that explained why she had fallen in love with Creative Writing class. Almost everyone there enjoyed writing to some extent. No one thought it went against the laws of nature. Oddly, she realized, Zetsu was in that class, too. Maybe it was some sort of writer detection system, because he had spoken to her first before the first Creative Writing class. She'd have to find out what he wrote.

With a slight grin she started writing, steadily. She wondered vaguely what was being served for lunch today but dismissed the thought. Lunch was for other people who didn't need to satisfy an addiction. Lunch was for people who didn't write. Eating was for humans.

She snickered at the thought, hand flowing over the page. People who didn't write, like people lost at sea. Cattle-like, weren't they? Herded from one place to another and then told to eat. She wondered if Zetsu ate. Probably. So, he wasn't quite a full-blown writer, then. He probably ate with friends, or at least a group of somewhat familiar people. So what was wrong with him, then?

Normal people didn't talk to her. They found her depressing. Just as good, because they depressed her with their stupidity and pedestrian behavior. No, what about Zetsu?

He was probably gay. Lots of the guys she knew were. It would fit with the pattern.

Footsteps. Of course there were always footsteps in the library, but these were different. She liked different. These were coming toward her. Then they stumbled erratically and paused before picking up again, sounding almost cautious. Interesting. Her pencil slowed and she lifted her eyes.

_Oh Hell_. Just what she needed: Itachi. And he looked slightly horrified that she was there. Good, they were on the same page then.

Erin twitched an eyebrow at him. "Are you waiting for a personal invitation to sit down?" she whispered forcefully. Obviously she was going to have to suffer. This would be a day in which no writing was accomplished. Perhaps her only chance of freedom was to actually suggest that he spend time with her. That would scare him off.

"That's my table." Very serious. What was it – a wise head on young shoulders? Huh, more like an aloof and overbearing head on sternly condescending shoulders. What would counter that kind of person? What would throw such a buzz-kill out of whack?

"It doesn't have your _name_ on it." Something child-like, of course.

"That's _my_ table." Erin briefly went over a few blissful ideas within the safety of her mind. _Itachi drives into a solid brick wall at 20m/s and stops in .01 seconds. What is his rate of acceleration? -2,000 m/s. How many g's does he experience? 204.1 g. Survival: negative. Itachi is pushed off a 300 m tall building. How fast is he going when he hits the ground? 76.68 m/s. How long will it take? 7.8 s. Survival: snowball's chance in hell._

She focused again and he was still there. Sighing, she looked him flush in the eyes. Flush in the creepy, demonic shade of red eyes. Itachi was very stiff and unbending. Immaturity bothered him, but not to the extent of admitting defeat and surrendering peacefully. No, she needed to turn his structured life against him.

"No, it's not. It's public property belonging to the school district placed here for all students to use as they wish and according to their individual need."

His resolve seemed to waver for a second. "No, you don't understand. You're at my _table_."

This was almost sad. Erin kept the laugh from leaving her mouth, so it traveled up to her eyes instead. "You do realize that you're beginning to repeat yourself, don't you?"

"You haven't moved."

"And I won't either." Ah, that elicited a reaction: he frowned. Ever so slight, but it was still there. It gave her the confidence to return to her normal dialect.

"I believe we've come to an impasse. May I suggest that we compromise like the young adults they believe us to be?"

He seemed puzzled by this sudden change of attitude. Oh, he _looked_ apathetic, but it was in the way he stood, not the expression on his face. She continued, if only to throw him more off balance.

"I propose this: I carry a roll of duct tape with me. We can divide this table in half and write your name on your half. That way, you are alone at your part of the table, and I am free to continue my writing in peace. Is that an acceptable solution?"

"_Why_ do you carry duct tape around with you?"

_Grasping at straws_, she noted. "You never know when it might come in handy. So, is it acceptable, or do you have something better?"

"You could move."

So they were back at square one again. She sighed a stage sigh. "You just don't understand the meaning of 'compromise,' do you?" _Ouch, insulting his vocabulary. Does that give us more reaction…?_

"The word has been known to cross my lips," he said stiffly, "but I consider it one of those words which apply to others."

She shook her head; this was very pathetic. "Then you will fail at life."

"I beg your pardon?" _Ooh, begging._

"Everyone has to compromise."

He had an underlying expression of shock under his habitual expressionlessness. Then it hardened. "No."

"No?" Then again, was she really that surprised?

He shook his head briskly. "No. You are at _my_ table, and so you will find that _I_ am in charge of the situation."

Erin was getting tired of this. She needed to communicate the message "go away" without actually saying it. It was a test.

"I thought we'd been through this already? Must I say it all again?"

All he did in response was glare harder.

"If you insist…" She took a deep, preparatory breath. "This table is public property belonging to the school…"

"I know what you said," he snapped. Oh, she had gotten him to _snap!_ He appeared as mortified as she was pleased. Content, she went back to her notebook.

He sat down. Hiding a smirk, she plucked the duct tape from her backpack and handed it to him without looking up.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Divide the table in half." She reabsorbed the story, forgetting about the world for a few perfect moments. She devolved from a higher form of intelligence into a tool that held a pencil for her brain. It was so wonderful. It was almost like Zen or something.

"This AP Algebra is far too simple."

It startled her out of her rhythm. Her head snapped up and she glanced around, reorienting herself. "I agree. I'm in Honors Geometry this year. I could have taken Algebra, but I decided I wanted to be challenged at least _once_ during the day." She started writing again.

"Indeed. I fully understand your sentiment."

She looked up again, but this time she was curious. "Did you _really_ just use the word 'sentiment'?"

"What of it? It is a perfectly acceptable word, and one which can be found in any dictionary you care to pick up."

She shook her head. "That doesn't mean that people actually _use_ it, you know."

"Oh? And why not, pray tell?"

This kid needed help. Still, she couldn't help but laugh quietly. It was so very… entertaining. Obviously he couldn't help it, but he wasn't designed to fit in with the world.

"Okay, I see what the problem is here. You are in dire need of a wonderful new form of medicine. You may have heard of it: it's called a Life."

He replied crisply, "I know not this 'Life' of which you speak."

"I guessed as much, thanks. What do you do for fun, anyway? Or do you know not that concept either?"

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. You know, that which is not work?"

"I do not do 'fun.'"

She shook her head, pity filling every swing. "That's really sad. You know that, right?" No response. "Okay, let's do this the hard way. What do you do when you get home from school?"

"Homework."

"And when you're done with your homework?"

"Extra credit work."

"Why? If anyone doesn't need extra credit, it's you."

"It is assigned. I do all assigned work."

"No, it's suggested. There's a difference. Anyway, moving on. When you're done with your extra credit work, what do you do?"

"I study."

"And when there's nothing to study for?"

"There is _always_ something to study for."

Erin paused, on the edge between demanding he leave and taking an interest in his situation. "I suppose you could see it that way. But when you have completed all conceivable schoolwork, what do you do?"

He hesitated, as if considering what to tell her. Hm, that meant he cared enough to think about how to respond. Fascinating. She awaited his answer almost eagerly.

"I glare."

She melted into a hopeless puddle of strangled laughter. "You… you _glare_?"

"I practice in the mirror," he retorted. Oh, he sounded hurt. She pulled herself together and took a few erratic breaths, smothering the urge to laugh again.

"To each their own, I suppose. At least it's not schoolwork." All she got was a curt nod.

"Anything _else_? Do you read books that aren't assigned, or play sports, or watch TV? Anything?"

"I watch TV," he affirmed. Oh, finally, a positive response. Still, that was a little suspicious coming from Itachi.

"Really?"

"Indeed."

"What do you watch?"

"The discovery channel."

She couldn't help it; she laughed again. This time it was poorly controlled, though, just because of the way he had sounded so… exultant. It was really, really pathetic. She pulled herself together quickly when the head librarian came over, a very malign look on her taut, stern face. She would attest that the woman was PMSing 24/7.

"Sorry. Itachi was telling me all about how he went demon hunting during his summer vacation and tried to capture his brother's best friend to exorcise the demon from him."

The witch shook her head in disgust and turned her glare on Itachi. "I trust you will not let this happen again." That was interesting: Itachi was considered the responsible party. Then the interest faded and she tried to go back to her writing, biting her lips together in an effort to keep from exploding into laughter at him.

"How did you know I have a brother?"

Questions betrayed curiosity. They were also irrefutable proofs that you didn't know something. Not only was she surprised that he had submitted to questioning, he actually asked a question of his own. Questions were uncomfortable things for people who were supposed to know everything. She knew that much. She was… what was it again…? The Walking Dictionary? Yes, that was it. People depended on her to know everything they didn't. How would it look for a dictionary to ask the definition of a word? Or an encyclopedia to ask for something it didn't know? She regretfully came to the conclusion that they were somewhat similar, the two of them. Itachi just hadn't adapted to people. He deserved sympathy, it was just that he was such an arrogant ass it was hard to give him any.

"I didn't, actually. It was a lucky guess." Ha; she had torn down his question with a deflective, belittling answer. Then again, that wasn't exactly the best way to show someone that it was okay to ask questions. Oh well, too late to fix it now.

"Oh."

Satisfied, she went back to her writing. He said nothing, so she assumed, for a few moments, that he was satisfied as well. Then she came to the conclusion that he might just be maintaining silence because he was… alone. He had sounded fine, but fine in the kind of way that people used when they were disheartened but they didn't want people to know. She had started it: she owed it to him to let him end on a less depressing note. Get him pissed again and he could at least feel righteously indignant. Besides, had she not just decided that he was deserving of sympathy?

"Does the name 'Paris Hilton' mean anything to you?" She didn't look up, knowing that he would be aggravated again.

"Should it?"

She shrugged again. "Yes. But I didn't really think you'd know. And since I don't feel like giving you her biography, you can either live without knowing or go look it up yourself. I believe she has quite a lengthy Wikipedia page."

The sound of his pencil scratching ceased. "If you think for even one _moment_ that I would even _consider_ consulting _Wikipedia_, then…"

"Jeez, calm down! I momentarily forgot that you weren't like the rest of us mortals. I won't make that mistake again, nor will I mention the word 'Wikipedia.' Satisfied?"

"I am." There, all better.

"Good." Erin started writing, _again_. These annoyances would no longer be tolerated. She suddenly remembered why she didn't like people: they weren't her story.

Then came the sounds of someone neatly putting items away with undue reverence. Now, she herself did not often indulge in shoveling her school crap into her backpack, but neither did she treat it all like something sacred and fragile.

She registered things without seeing them. The rustle of something being removed from a backpack, turning pages, flipped – something with a spiral, then. Brief silence, a few flips with an almost desperate note, then a pressed, frustrated silence. It made her grin.

"No homework?" she asked innocently.

"Not for the time being, no." It gave her great satisfaction to imagine his scowl. It wouldn't be major, because he liked to keep his expressions as blank as fresh paper, but it would still be there. Still, volumes about his attitude were not conveyed by his face, which she couldn't see anyway, but by the sound of the Planner being dropped into a canvas pocket. That didn't fit with the earlier respect, which meant something was clouding over his habits. Something else was pulled out. It was an unfamiliar sound, and she glanced up without moving her head or stymieing the flow of graphite words on the lined paper beneath her fingers.

A book. Of course, it had to be something school-related, if only because he didn't display much creativity. "Okay, so how many times have you read that?"

"Twice." He sounded about ready to murder her if the grating quality in his voice indicated anything.

She sighed. "That's just depressing. You do realize that _no one_ reads school books more than they have to, don't you?"

"Do _you_ realize that I could care less about what _no one_ does?" He sounded like he thought he sounded upset, but really his tone was more vapid than some of the stoners she knew.

"I suppose. But still, you could at least _pretend_." He dignified this with what could have a sneer, only it looked more like he'd just walked into a room full of the smell of decaying flesh.

She shrugged in return, feeling the shoulder of her half-zipped jacket start to slip off her shoulder.

"I'm being serious. You can't go through life like this. You'll give yourself a heart attack before you turn 40. Didn't you learn about Type A people in Psychology yet?" Of course he had. He had probably read the textbook twice as well. At least _she_ had only read it once.

"Of course. I fail to see what that has to do with me."

She was honestly surprised. "You didn't notice? You're the ideal example of a Type A person." She began ticking off signs on her fingers. "Workaholic, competitive, strongly achievement-orientated, impatient with others, not a people person, wants to be in charge… What _don't_ you have?" A nonresponsive look. "Look, let me tell you something: to get through in the world, you need to at least _pretend_ to care. Is that too much to ask?"

"I fail to see how my doing things which do not come naturally to me will aid me in this world. Furthermore, I also fail to see how continuing this pointless and irritating conversation will aid either of us in the long run. So, as I see it, this conversation is finished, and you will oblige me by remaining silent."

Oh, so she took commands now? "I will do no such thing," she snapped. "_You_ can 'remain silent' if you want, but you can't keep me from talking!" She paused briefly, giving him a brief window in which to object. "And, since you won't answer me, I'll give you some free advice. You need a life. It doesn't matter what _kind_ of life you get, just that you get one. You can't go through life like this. You'll never make it. You'll be one of those people whose entire lives are invested in their career and who don't have time for a family or friends, and who drink themselves to death if they ever get too old to work, and who take stimulants when they get old to keep working as much as they did when they were just out of college. Does that sound like an appealing life choice?" He still didn't answer. "So, as I say, you need a life. It doesn't have to be a social butterfly life, if you don't want to work that hard. You could pick the kind I did." She gestured to the notebook. "Though, quite frankly, I can't see you going to starving and slave-driven writer way. I could be wrong, of course. You might have a hidden genius for writing Shakespeare-style plays that no one knows about. But I must say, I really do doubt that."

She was finally getting a solid reaction from him: his mouth was such a tight line the blood was draining from his lips.

"'Cause the way you are now, you're just a robot in human form. An android." She paused, taking a shine to this idea. "You know, I like that. Android. Andi! So, Andi, what do you think of my proposition? Will you be willing to step out of your comfort bubble and acquire a life?"

As if finally breaking he stood up, shoving the rest of his stuff – neatly, of course – into his backpack.

She couldn't help it: it was her nature. Now that she was winning again she couldn't resist goading him even more. "Leaving already, Andi? But you haven't answered my question yet, Andi!"

Even more reaction, though people who weren't hyper-observant wouldn't have noted much. He pivoted at a dangerous speed on his heels and was wielding his backpack almost like a weapon. "My. Name. Is. _Not_. _**Andi**_!" he hissed. "You will not call me that, understood?"

She smiled and cocked her head to one side. "Sure, Andi," she replied sincerely.

And then the head librarian manifested out of the depths of the library files. "Out!" she hissed at Itachi. "I have had enough! It's clear you two aren't doing any work here, and you're only distracting other students. Leave, now!"

His only reaction was his thin eyebrows witching up slightly, but then, for Itachi that was pretty severe. She didn't notice much else because the world started to change color. Everything became tinted faintly red, almost like a photo in sepia except red. She was being ejected from her sanctum. Because of _him_. If he had just left her alone, compromised, but _no_, he just _had_ to continue badgering her, _hadn't_ he?

She latched onto the shoulder strap of her back pack and swung it around, using centrifugal force to aid its ascent to her shoulders. She half hoped it would hit Itachi, but no such luck. Those textbooks that almost made her tip over backwards like a turtle could probably have broken a rib two. Stalking was quite familiar to her, and she executed a perfect example out of the library.

She turned to confront him and found they were both glaring murderously at each other. Her hand held itself out expectantly. "I want my duct tape back." It was transferred to her opposite wrist the moment it touched her exposed palm. "Oh, and next time you seek me out? Don't do it in the library. I don't like making them mad, and I want to go back. Got it?"

Erin didn't wait for a response, simply turning the corner and storming over to sit under the southeast staircase among the grease-stained cardboard lunch trays littering the ground and waiting. Nausea swelled in her head when her nose was assaulted by the residual smoke the druggies carried with them on their clothes. She slunk into her backpack, head downturned. She knew most of them by now, generally juniors and senior, though. Like Levi, who sat behind her in Psych, and Mary and Seth in Geometry. She wasn't as conspicuous in this group because these were the preps. Even an idiot could have figured that out quickly enough: the southeast staircase belonged to the preps who were too cool to get cancer, but the northwest staircase was the haunt of the kids you could track through the halls by the jingling of the chains on their pants. She would have stuck out like a sore thumb over there, with her grey and olive drab – not enough black and skulls.

She slipped closer to the floor when Itachi passed by, stalking almost as efficiently as her toward the business hall, which led to the Computer Apps classes and the Cafeteria. Standing up to follow, she braced against the wall to counter her textbooks. She was halted when a hand hooked onto the handle of her backpack and jerked her around.

Josh wore a crooked smile like a sweater that had stretched in the wash. "Give us a kiss, wouldja?"

Her eyes narrowed and she laughed. "Ha, yeah, very funny, Josh. Sure, maybe in 20 years, if it's okay with my pimp." She waited impatiently the five seconds it took for the surprise to register in his glassy blue eyes. His mouth opened to expose slightly yellowed teeth and his putrid breath rolled over her nose like a wall when he laughed.

"Good one!" he mumbled, pushing her out from under the staircase. "It was a joke, right?" His hand went to his pocket and he leaned against the wall.

"Oh, lay off, Josh," Mary ordered in her childishly high-pitched voice.

"Yeah, man," Isaac added. "She's obviously off the market."

Erin blinked, leaning forward slightly. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Seth interjected, stretching his sinewy arms. "You just go stalk your new boyfriend."

Her shoulders sagged and she rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Whatever."

Seniors. Actually, they had no idea how right they were – on one count. Though, the general rules of stalking didn't apply in High School because you couldn't risk staying at least 40 feet behind the target when the hallways were barely 50 feet long.

Who was who had said that one thing? "We choose our acquaintances for their looks, our friends for their characters, and our enemies for their wits," or something like that?

Well, it wasn't that hard to keep track of Itachi in the scarcely populated hallways, and soon he was joined by… someone. She didn't know his name yet, but he was that one freakishly tall kid in her Life Sports class with Mr. Fischer. Seriously, dude was taller than Stephen, and he was head and shoulders taller than her. And… Sasori, from Psych and Chem. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she could still detect the residual pissed-offedness in Itachi's voice. The tall guy's hand dove into his pocket and lived there for a while, the same way Josh's did, but that didn't make any sense; Josh did that because he always had a knife on him. Wait… That could become problematic. She'd have to watch that one.

She hugged the locker-spotted walls and listened. Normal discussion, then an unnatural pause, then more words, and several question-sounding phrases in sequence, ending with the tall one snorting. Question, comment, question, comment, and so forth. Eventually Sasori said something, then turned to go. She watched after him for a while, watching him turn into the Science Hall, then her eyes flicked back to Itachi and the tall one, who didn't say anything. She heard something when she turned around, but it didn't sound important, so she backtracked past the staircase, ignoring the preps, and turned into the Math Hall, cutting through it quickly and hovering in the double-door opening that connected to the Main Lobby. She beat Sasori there, but that wasn't the plan, so she stayed where she was.

Zetsu followed, catching Sasori up quickly. She shifted until she was half hidden in the small wall space between the metal doorframe and the protrusion in the wall, observing.

Sasori made a beckoning motion with his arm. "Hurry up!"

"Shut up, I'm half-starved," Zetsu grumbled.

"That's no excuse. We could already be halfway to feeding your sorry ass."

"Chipotle?"

"Where else? There's nothing else around."

"Except for Starbucks?"

Sasori snorted. "Yeah, coffee. "That's what we need."

Zetsu laughed and punched his arm, beating him through the glass doors.

Erin rested her forehead against the cool metal doorframe and followed them with her eyes until they disappeared. _Gay_, she sighed sadly.


	3. The Trouble with Life Sports

author's note: not much to say about this one. it's set the day after the first two. i've noticed that these tend to go in story arcs, so, if you like, this is the culmination of this particular story arc. not that it actually finishes anything, but it's all i've got written.  
disclaimer: ... read it and then tell me if you think we wrote the original...  
--kyra

* * *

The Trouble with Life Sports

Everyone noticed Kisame's silence at lunch that day. After the first time he growled at them, they stopped trying to engage him in conversation, but he couldn't help noticing the attention people were paying him. It wasn't that important – he could ignore them easily – but it was annoying. Didn't they have things of their _own_ to be doing? Surely there were things more interesting than him going on. Hells, most things were more interesting than him right now. Sure, sometimes he had the best stories and people wanted to hear more, but now wasn't one of those times. Why was it that people had an infuriating habit of ignoring him when he longed for attention and bothering him when he wanted to be ignored? Did they do it on _purpose_?!

Only Itachi didn't pay any attention at all, and, perversely enough, it annoyed Kisame even more than the others' persistent curiosity. He scowled impatiently. He couldn't think like that. Itachi would notice him after this was finished. He would have to. This was Kisame's only chance to prove himself to Itachi. It was unthinkable that he should fail. If he failed… he forced his mind away from that unwanted thought. He would _not_ fail. It simply would not happen.

His hands continued to transfer French fries to his mouth as his mind plotted busily. What would be the best way to go about doing this? He wished he could ask someone for help. Pein, maybe, or even Hidan. Not Itachi. Itachi would have the best ideas, just like always, but Kisame wanted to do this on his own. If Itachi hadn't been sitting right there next to him, Kisame might just have asked, but he couldn't now. No, he was on his own for this.

Voices penetrated his consciousness, ripping him violently from his hard-earned state of concentration. His knife was out and pointed before his mind could react and pull it out of sight once more.

"What?" he growled.

"The bell rang." Itachi. Damn. Why did it have to be Itachi? Why couldn't it have been someone else, someone it was all right to threaten with a pocket knife? His plan, such as it was, morphed again in his mind, becoming more elaborate and more certain to succeed. He would have to _try_ to earn forgiveness.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He stood automatically, his limbs functioning of their on volition, going through the motions of getting ready for class without internalizing any of it. After two days, everything became automatic.

"I want to talk to you after school." The command was phrased as a request, presumably to fool any of the non-initiated who dared to listen in, but Kisame saw right through it. He wasn't being given a choice. Not that that mattered. He would have gone anyway.

"When?"

"When the bell rings. Come to my locker."

Kisame nodded. Itachi turned down a hallway without a word, slipping into the unsuspecting crowd, which suddenly seemed to walk a little faster. Kisame walked faster too, determined to get to Life Sports as early as possible so as to put his plan into action.

He wasn't the first one in the gym, but he was one of them. Erin hadn't arrived yet, which was good. He needed time to prepare.

So focused was he on his preparations that he failed, again, to notice the bell ringing. Only Coach Fischer's sharp call of, "Kisame!" got his attention, and he moved to sit in his proper alphabetical position, in the middle of the fifth row of students. Erin was several rows away, but that didn't matter. He would have his chance soon enough.

Coach Fischer began bellowing out the rules of their first unit: badminton. Kisame nodded in satisfaction. So far, his plan was working.

When Coach Fischer finally finished, he ordered them all to form into pairs. Just as he'd hoped, Erin remained partnerless. He sidled over to her, trying his best to look innocent. "Do you have a partner?"

She glanced at him, taking in the tattooed gills and navy blue hair, then shrugged. "No."

"Neither do I."

"And? Your point is?"

Was she stupid as well as infuriating? "Would you like to be my partner?"

She scanned the gym rapidly, taking in their happily partnered peers. "No, but I don't appear to have any choice."

Stupid, infuriating, _and_ rude. Maybe it was a good thing that Itachi wanted to kill her. Suddenly, he stopped short. _Itachi_ wanted to kill her. That meant that Kisame couldn't. It meant that he couldn't even grievously injure her. Well, _that_ put a dent in things. But no matter. He would think of a way to torment her without physically harming her. Maybe he could just torture her soul. Yes, that would work. Itachi wouldn't mind that, surely. After all, he was sometimes fair about this kind of thing. And, anyway, Kisame should get to have some fun too, right?

"That's true," he agreed. "I'll go get the materials, shall I? You can pick out a court."

She eyed him suspiciously, but shrugged her agreement. He headed off to gather rackets and the little plastic thing called, for unknown reasons, a birdie. As far as he could tell, it looked nothing like a bird. Granted, he knew nothing about birds – fish were more his thing – but even so. He doubted they looked like medium sized plastic cones with rubber tips. Still, you never knew. He resolved to ask Itachi eventually. After he'd succeeded in terrorizing Erin, that is.

He turned away from the equipment bin only to find that she'd chosen the court farthest away from the bins. Of course she would. He headed towards her at a jog, plotting how many times would be safe to hit her with the birdie as he went.

"You did have to pick the one all the way over here, did you?" he demanded when he arrived, tossing her her racket as he did so.

She caught it with a scowl. "Yes. Now, I have no desire to talk to you, so just get on with it."

Kisame frowned slightly. This surliness was unlike her, or so he'd heard. According to both Itachi and Sasori, Erin was usually terminally cheerful. What was wrong?

As though she read his mind, she snapped, "And, you can tell Itachi that if he wants to torture me, he can do so himself. I have no respect for someone who hides behind loyal minions instead of facing battle himself."

Kisame's mouth dropped open in fury. How _dare_ she insult Itachi in that way? How _dare_ she even _think_ that he was a coward? His fists clenched around his racket, and he noticed that it was shaking slightly.

"Listen up," he growled, fighting to make every word understandable. "Itachi has _nothing_ to do with what I'm going to do to you. Now it's gotten personal."

She didn't even have the grace to look slightly alarmed. Instead, she moved into position in the middle of the court, looking almost bored. "Personal? I hit a nerve? Why, is this some way to impress him with your ability to think for yourself?"

That did it. She was dead. Kisame didn't even care that Itachi had wanted to do it himself. He would understand. He had to. Kisame tossed the birdie into the air and smashed it towards her, snarling, "You are going to pay for this!"

She moved into position and lobbed the birdie back at him. "Why? I didn't say anything but the truth."

Kisame scowled and aimed the birdie in the farthest corner of the court. "No you didn't. You don't even know the beginning of the truth!"

Miraculously, she managed to hit the birdie with the very edge of her racket. "Really? Then would you care to enlighten me?"

"No." He hit it too hard, and it bounced just outside the court. She moved to pick it up.

"Fine then. I suppose you'll just have to content yourself with listening to me spout out things that you consider to be untruthful." She tossed the birdie up and sent it zooming right into his face. He managed to hit it out of the way, but only barely, and his shot was erratic.

"You could just shut up," he suggested, watching the flying birdie with sharp eyes.

"I could," she replied, doing the same, "but that would be boring, and, anyway, I don't like badminton. I'd rather taunt you."

He aimed and hit, sending the birdie ricocheting off the net and just inside her half of the court. She missed. He sneered his triumph. "Maybe you should spend more time paying attention to the game and less time taunting me."

She shrugged as she retrieved the birdie. "I could. But that would be no fun. And, anyway, would you want me to make this easy for you?"

Kisame frowned as he received the birdie. "I thought you were mad about this being me, not Itachi."

She shrugged again. "I am. But I'm also considerate and selfless. I'll forsake my own pleasure to make you happy."

He eyed her in surprised suspicion. "Really?"

"No," she answered flatly. "But you can always imagine I mean it."

"That's not the same," he snapped. He served the birdie right at her. She hit it back easily.

"Picky picky picky," she grumbled as they continued to volley the birdie back and forth. "Why can't you just be satisfied?"

He shrugged. "I'm difficult." He aimed the birdie at the corner of the court. She eyed it slightly suspiciously, then returned it to his end of the court, probably watching in hope that he would fail to return it. He didn't, much to his satisfaction.

"You do realize," she pointed out, sending the birdie soaring back towards him, "that you are wasting valuable time here?"

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ that you could be using this time to torture me into submission instead of merely attempting to win a game of badminton."

It was his turn to shrug. "I like badminton."

"You would," she muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said that already," she pointed out.

"I still want to know."

She shrugged yet again. "I just assumed that you would enjoy any sport which involved lobbing small yet aerodynamic objects at very high speeds at someone else."

He blinked once, filed the word 'aerodynamic' away in his ever growing list of words he didn't know and Itachi did, and focused on the main point of her speech. Or, at least, what he thought was probably the main point.

"So you're saying that you think I like throwing things at people?"

She eyed him condescendingly. "I can see I must use small words and simple sentences. Remind me of that if I ever speak to you again."

He scowled. "I will. So, was I right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you were right. Am _I_ right?"

His scowl deepened. "Yes," he admitted. "Happy?"

She shrugged. "No, but oh well. I won't be happy until this period is over."

He grimaced, but decided he probably shouldn't keep talking with her. He had a sinking suspicion that, given time, she could turn any conversation to her advantage and leave him lagging behind with a star-struck air, wondering what on earth just happened.

They continued to slam the innocent birdie back and forth for most of the rest of the period, both of them concentrating grimly. Well, Kisame, at least, was concentrating grimly. Erin seemed distracted, lobbing the birdie back in an almost halfhearted way, yet still managing to counter every shot and score points far more often than Kisame would have wished. By the time the period was almost over, he had to face the facts: he was losing, and losing badly.

Thankfully, the teacher's bullhorn voice rang through the gym, telling them all to put their materials away and go to the locker rooms to change back into normal clothes. Erin seemed relieved, which only made it worse. What did _she_ have to be relieved about? _She'd _won. _She_ had no reason to be relieved the period was over.

She tossed him her racket, and, as he caught it, a last, desperate plan came to him. Had he been in a comic book, a light bulb would have appeared above his head, shining merrily. Because he was not, he only adopted an expression which, to him, seemed both crafty and triumphant. He ignored his sneaking suspicion that it was neither.

"What?" Erin demanded, sounding more resigned than nervous. "Have you explained away your losing by concocting some falsity about having a bad day and a preemption that you will both fight with your best friend and lose your grandmother this afternoon, and so was unable to concentrate on properly creaming me? Because if you have, I have no desire to hear it." She started walking away.

He followed her from a safe distance, watching for the gym teacher. It wouldn't do for him to get caught and suspended. Itachi would _kill_ him if he were caught! Pein would too, of course, but, somehow, Pein didn't scare Kisame nearly as much as Itachi. Pein just yelled. That was fine. Itachi _didn't_ yell. It was much, much worse.

Now! He quickened his step and, with an expression of supreme concentration, brought his racket down as hard as he could on Erin's head. She stumbled and whirled to face him, scowling. "What was _that_ for? Couldn't you at least have _warned_ me so that I could work up a suitably appalled response and so get you to cease harassing me?"

Kisame, ignoring the words he didn't know, of which there were many, only raised the racket for another shot. She sighed. "No, apparently not. Look, tell you what. Let me get my stuff and I'll meet you in the hallway and you can continue your humiliation of me there. But make it fast. I don't want to be late to class."

This was insane! There she was, being threatened by a furious badminton-racket-wielding freshman who was over a head taller than her, and she was worried about being late to _class_?! Who _was_ this person? Normal people didn't act like this. Then again, normal people didn't confront Itachi either, so that ruled out the whole 'normal' option. Heck, she was probably the kind of person, much like Konan, who took being called 'normal' as a kind of insult.

But he was getting distracted. "No. This ends now!" He swung again, almost connecting. She ducked away with a furious scowl.

"What have I done to _you_, anyway?" she demanded, making her way carefully towards the wall. Kisame followed, triumphant. He was getting his enemy to back up. That meant he was winning. Of course he was winning. It wasn't possible that he _wouldn't_ win.

Kisame had never heard of a 'tactical retreat.'

She finally reached the wall and her hand shot up, connecting with her overstuffed backpack. She scrabbled in one of the pockets. Kisame didn't really care what she was looking for. A ruler maybe. He hoped it would be a ruler. That would be fun: racket against ruler. He wondered how long it would take to break a ruler with a racket.

But it wasn't a ruler. She withdrew her hand triumphantly, clenched around something he couldn't quite make out. He took a step forward, curious despite himself. That was a mistake. Her free hand shot out and grabbed the racket, pulling it towards her. Kisame, in his shock, loosened his grip, and she wrenched the racket from his hand. Then with surprising dexterity, she proceeded to dismember the strings on the racket with... _something_. He wasn't at all sure what it was, but, whatever it was, it was both shiny and sharp. He stared at her, wondering which of them it was who had finally gone insane. Apparently it wasn't him, because, as he turned, he caught sight of the PE teacher charging over. Had he been anyone but Kisame, he would have shrunk away from the teacher's furious scowl.

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared. Everyone in the gym turned to stare, attracted by the volume of his demand.

Erin looked from the dismembered racket to Kisame and then to the teacher. She shrugged. "It was my fault."

Kisame frowned slightly. She was admitting to being in the wrong? She was right, of course, but he'd expected to have to defend his claim for quite a while before she was awarded the punishment she deserved.

The teacher too seemed a little startled, but he rallied quickly. "Would you care to explain…?" He paused, searching for her name.

"Erin. And I won the game. So I was excited and doing my patented happy dance, and my shoelace came untied, and I tripped over it. Kisame put out a hand to help me up, and I fell over him and my necklace fell out of my backpack and ripped into the racket." She actually managed a very convincingly shamed look. "I'm really _really_ sorry about this. Do you want me to replace it?"

The teacher looked from Erin to Kisame, who did his best to look like this story wasn't a complete lie. He wondered why she was doing this, and, more importantly, if she would get away with it. After all, so long as it was her who got into trouble, not him, it didn't matter why.

The teacher seemed to come to a decision, and he frowned at Erin. "I would like the truth, please," he said. "Though I appreciate your wanting to stick up for your friend, I know as well as you do that that's not what happened. Why don't you tell me the truth?"

She sighed. "Do I have to?"

"Yes Erin. You have to."

Her shoulders slumped, and she shot Kisame an apologetic look. "Sorry about this Kisame. But, well, he isn't giving me much of a choice. At least I tried!"

"Please get on with it," the teacher ordered curtly.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, so it was like this. I won the game. Kisame here, apparently, is a bit of a sore loser, and as I was going to collect my things to go into the locker room and change back into school clothes, he attacked me viciously with the racket you see before you. I tried to escape, but he was relentless, and I had no choice. I retreated as best I could until I reached my backpack, where I found this." She waved the necklace. "I was just going to show it to him, kind of as a pointedly polite request to stop attacking me with a badminton racket, and he tripped. I don't know quite what it was he fell over, but, anyway, the racket landed on my necklace. I didn't _mean_ to destroy it, honestly, but it just happened." She sighed. "I can still replace it, if you want."

"That won't be necessary," the teacher informed her. "You may go. Though I would suggest that you not carry that necklace around any longer. It could easily be seen as a weapon and confiscated."

She nodded earnestly. "I won't. Good-bye." She turned to go, but, at the last moment, whirled back to gather up a fallen book. As she flipped her blond hair out of her face, she gave Kisame a look of pure, undiluted triumph. She'd won. _Fuck_.

"Detention _and_ I have to replace the stupid racket that _she_ broke!" Kisame exclaimed.

Konan glanced up. "If you're fishing for sympathy, you've come to the wrong lunch table. You shouldn't have lost your temper."

Kisame growled at her. "You don't know anything about it, Konan! You weren't even there!"

She rolled her eyes. "No, but I know you. Did it go anything like this: she wins, you get angry, you try to attack her, she kicks your ass, you get blamed?"

Kisame sighed. "Yeah," he admitted.

She snorted. "What did I tell you?" She glanced up again, but this time her eyes met Itachi's. She looked away again rapidly, but Kisame was still certain that some information or other had been exchanged. He decided not to ask. Most of the time, it was just better not to know…


	4. Given the circumstances

_Author's note: this does connect directly to the real story. it's what happens directly after the end of chapter 5, right after Deidara blows up Pein's basement. -grins- possibly not as good as some of the others, but, as you can see by the title, we were going through a tough time... hopefully it's acceptable.  
this marks the first time skip. we did warn you that there were holes in the year. sorry if it upsets you. we will eventually fill in the holes, but we'd rather post the chapters we have now and then go back and fill in the blanks.  
Disclaimer: okay people, you know the drill; do i really have to type it all again?  
--kyra

* * *

_

Given the Circumstances  
Or  
What Happened When Pein's Parents Came Home That Night  
(Extra to Stimulate The Creative Process and hopefully Get Rid Of Writer's Block)  
Konan's POV

I know I shouldn't have stayed with him after the others left that night, but I've never been able to resist rubbing his nose in my rightness. I'd _told_ them that they should have taken it outside, but does anyone listen to me? Hah, don't even bother answering me. Heck, not even _I_ listen to me! If that's not pathetic, I don't know what is. And, anyway, it wasn't like I had pressing things to do at my own house. A whole evening of my parents staring primly away from my blue hair and lip ring, carefully asking the air if I'd had a good day at school was not something I looked forward to. Was it _my_ fault that they'd actually wanted a brainiac like mom and got me instead? She's a college Professor, senior Professor of Political Science of the European Continent or something dull and dreary like that. She's written lots of dull and dreary books, and teaches dull and dreary classes, and has gotten dull and dreary awards. The house is full of them. And I don't give a shit. Sorry, but that kind of life is _not_ what I want for myself.

Not that I'm quite sure what exactly it is I want. I just know what I _don't_ want, which is to be anything like my family. Or the people who claim to be my family. I have my suspicions. I mean, come on! How likely is it that Mom the College Professor and Dad the Police Chief could produce Konan the Rebel With The Bad Boyfriend? I wouldn't have thought it was biologically possible. Isn't the whole point of heredity that your children will have things in common with you?

So anyway, instead of going back to the place I am informed is my home, I elected to stay at the home of the boy I am informed is my boyfriend. To my knowledge, neither of us have actually come out and said as much. Well, not when we're both sober and not in the thrall of things my puritan grandmother would term: "sinful behavior which will send you directly to Hell, no questions asked, young lady." Not that that matters much. I've always thought that Heaven would be the most boring place in existence. I mean, who wants to be _happy_ all the time? Dear God, I'm a teenager! I thrive on angst and misery. Preferably other people's.

"Um, Konan?"

Pein's voice drew me out of these pleasant speculations and back to reality, which consisted of sitting in his sprinkler-soaked bedroom listening to his parents come through the front door. Soon they'd realize that the house was drenched, and then the fun would start. Well, fun for me, at least.

"Yeah?"

"You do realize that you're dripping, right?"

I shrugged. "So are you," I reminded him.

"I'll dry faster than you."

I shrugged again. "I have a good immune system. I can handle it."

He shrugged back. "As you wish."

I cocked an eyebrow. "_Anything_ I wish?"

He started to leer at me, but his moment was spoiled by his mom's shrill voice. "Pein!"

He sighed. "Great. I'll have to answer your question later. If I'm still alive."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I'm sure you'll do your best."

I stuck out my lower lip and tossed my bangs over my eyes, looking through them up at him in what I hoped was a hurt/petulant way. "You don't believe in my ability to protect you?"

He laughed, seeing right through my act. "No."

I scowled, acting vanishing. "You'll regret that!"

"Oh really?"

"Really!"

"Prove it!"

"I will!"

"_Pein!_"

We both turned our scowls towards the door leading to the stairs.

"I'm _coming_, jeez!" he hollered back, standing and moving towards the door. He didn't look back at me as I followed him. It didn't matter. I was still too mad at him to care.

We climbed the stairs, deliberately walking slowly, both rigid with fury. Finally, we emerged into the living room, where Pein's livid parents were standing, staring fixedly at their ruined Oriental rug.

"Well?" his father asked, after thirty seconds of icy silence.

"What?" Pein demanded sullenly. "You haven't asked any questions yet."

"You know perfectly well what we want to know," his mother snapped, finally turning to look at him.

"No I don't."

"Pein," his father said warningly.

Pein's scowl darkened as he faced his father. "Use words," he retorted. "Simple words and short sentences. And I reserve the right to remain silent."

Pein's father's hand rose as thought to strike his son, then fell back to his side through a supreme act of will. They still hadn't noticed me, standing halfway behind Pein as I was. I was smart enough to remain silent myself, content to observe this scene of domestic upheaval through impartial eyes. Well, okay, maybe not quite impartial. I was totally on his parents' side; I couldn't wait for them to punish him as brutally as they could.

"Why is my living room soaked?" his mother asked, speaking slowly and clearly, as one would to an idiot.

"Fire alarm."

"Why did the fire alarm go off?"

"Explosion."

This made his parents exchange glances.

"Why was there an explosion?"

"I plead the fifth."

His father's scowl turned into a full fledged glower. It wasn't even close to the kind Itachi could pull out for lesser occasions than this, but Itachi's a professional. Pein's father's a businessman. He's more used to smiling.

"You don't have the right to do any such thing in my household," he fairly screamed.

Pein didn't budge an inch. "I have constitutional rights, just like anyone," he insisted. "The fifth amendment says 'No person shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself.' I don't have to tell you why there was an explosion in my room that set off the fire alarm."

This time his mother had to physically restrain her husband from striking Pein. Still griping her husband's hand, she turned towards her son. "Do _not_ quote the Bill of Rights to us. We know it better than you do, count on that."

He shrugged mutely.

"And you're still a minor, so you don't enjoy full protection under the Bill of Rights. So, why was there an explosion in your room?"

Pein, still scowling, remained sullenly silent.

I decided that it was time to assert myself. Since he wasn't talking, I would.

"He invited an apparently suicidal new kid over this afternoon, and said new kid got into a fight with Itachi and tried to blow the house up." I shrugged, indicating that I was in no way able to understand Deidara's comportment.

Both of his parents' eyes swiveled towards me, seeing me for the first time.

"Oh, hello Konan," his mother said finally.

I acknowledged this with a polite nod, stepping out of Pein's shadow as I did so. He met my eyes with a poisonous glare, informing me that all the favor I'd regained this afternoon had been rendered null and void by my recent treachery. I met his glare with a glower, informing _him_ that I didn't give a load of dingo's kidneys how much favor I was in and I didn't even _want_ to be 'in favor' and, furthermore, if he thought he could use terms like that about me, then he was Sadly Mistaken, and I would show _him_ how much I cared about him and his stupid plans to rule the world and…

At that point his glare turned into a disgusted look, which told me that I talked too much and he looked away, informing me that he no longer acknowledged my presence in this room. Of all the nerve!

All of this had actually taken a remarkably short period of time, and his parents were still internalizing the information I'd given them. Finally, his mother sighed.

"Is there something you want to tell us about your new friend, Pein?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"If you were us, would you want you to tell you something?"

That was pushing the edge of making sense, and both Pein and I knew it, though we would rather have died than agree with each other.

"No."

She scowled at this, clearly frustrated out of any attempts to reason with her rebellious offspring. She changed tactics.

"Pein, tell us about your friend."

"What do you want to know?"

"Well," his father said coldly. "For starters, why did he blow up your room?"

I'd already told them that, and Pein knew it, but, since he wasn't officially acknowledging my presence, he couldn't say that. "He was fighting Itachi."

"And how would that lead him to blow something up?"

"He was losing."

"Oh, and this is a reason to blow up a house, is it?" His mother tried for sarcasm. She wasn't good at it. It came out as slightly hysterical and much too filled with emotion. To be proper sarcasm, it must be blasé and utterly deadpan. Trust me, I know.

Pein shrugged. "He thought so."

"And do you know why?"

"Why don't you ask him that?"

"I will. Does he have a last name?"

Pein shrugged. "How should I know?"

His parents stared at him for one, shocked moment, then turned to look at each other, their faces morphing into identical, 'what did we do to deserve this fate?' expressions. Finally, his father turned back towards us, though he was once again ignoring me. He shouldn't have. _I_ had Deidara's number programmed into my phone. But I wouldn't give it to him unless he thought to ask. Which, if I knew him, he wouldn't.

Sure enough, he didn't even think to consider asking. Instead, he scowled at Pein.

"What's his first name, then?"

"Deidara."

"And his phone number?"

Shrug. "I don't know, and I don't care."

"Then how did he know to come over?"

"Sasori called him."

"And do you have Sasori's number?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Find it for yourselves! It's in the directory, like all of them."

It was also in my phone, and, for that matter, in Pein's, but his parents didn't know that, and Pein wasn't about to tell them.

With a scowl, his father left the room to fish out the probably dampened directory, leaving the three of us alone in the living room. Pein's mother finally deigned to look at me again.

"Konan, do you know what happened?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

I shrugged. "I told you. There wasn't anything more to it than that."

"You're expecting me to believe that a… a _boy_ would try to blow up a house because he was just _loosing a __**fight**_?!"

I shrugged, wishing she'd stop attempting sarcasm. "Believe what you like. It's true."

Pein didn't look at me, but I could feel the scowl he wasn't aiming in my direction.

She looked from Pein to me then back to Pein and finally threw up her hands in the time honored, 'Oh, I fucking give _up_!' gesture used by parents throughout the centuries. "I give up!" she intoned, editing her thoughts slightly. She gave us one last glance, then marched out of the room to join her husband.

Pein didn't turn to look at me, and, seemingly at random, focused his gaze on the still dripping television.

"You know," he told it, for all the world as though he were completely alone, "it would be so nice if, for once, I could actually have some peace."

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, and I know he saw it, whatever he pretended. "If that's the case," I informed him, "then you should have done what I said."

"I thought I heard a noise," he replied dreamily. "It must just have been my imagination."

My eyes widened. "Oh God. You're not playing _that_ game with me, are you? Where the fuck do you think we are, in second grade? I bet now you're going to go on about how loud the wind sounds today aren't you?"

"There sure is an awful lot of wind, isn't there?"

"Right," I growled. "That does it." I strode over to him and roughly gripped his collarbone, pivoting him around to face me. His eyes drifted away from mine and focused on a spot above and slightly to the left of my shoulder. "You listen to me, Pein, and don't you fucking dare give me any wind crap. Got it?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't spout anything about the weather either, so I continued.

"I don't give a load of Dingo's Kidneys if they draw and quarter you and confine you to your room until eternity ends, got it?"

He still gave no reply.

"But that does _not_ give you leave to ignore me! You have no right to pretend I don't exist!" Hey, I might be pissed, hell, I _was_ pissed, but it's no fun being pissed at someone who won't fight back. Have you ever tried it? It's damned frustrating, and I don't give a shit if I sound like a pathetic chick begging to be let back into my guy's good graces. I'm tough. I can take it. I just want him to fucking _fight back_!

He didn't. He didn't even move. He just stood there limply, staring past my shoulder, for all the world as though he didn't even notice me. That was it. I kicked him. Do I really need to tell you where?

Slowly, he crumpled into a heap at my feet, still staring vacantly through me. I wasn't sure now if it was due to his decision to ignore me or due to the pain I'd inflicted upon him. It didn't even matter. All that mattered was that I'd done what I could, and I'd _lost_. I'd lost a fight. I _hate_ losing!

I stared at him for a long moment before turning away and pointedly _not_ bursting into tears. Ever noticed how _not_ crying is almost worse than giving in? I have. I don't cry 'cause I'm not that kind of girl, but sometimes I damn well wish I was. It would be nice to let myself cry sometimes.

But I'm not that girl, so I don't cry.

His parents came back into the room then, the phone cradled in the crook of his father's arm. His mother opened her mouth to say something, then stopped dead as she took in the scene before her.

I raised my eyes, suddenly weary beyond caring. "Don't ask," I said flatly, my voice flat and unchecked by tears, shed or otherwise.

She frowned, but her husband, the more perceptive of the two, put his free hand on her arm. "I don't think we want to know?" It ended almost as a question. I shook my head. He nodded. "I didn't think so." He looked around at his still quite damp living room, then sighed. "Given the circumstances, I believe we should eat out tonight. Do you want to come, Konan?"

Given the circumstances, I didn't refuse.


End file.
